


breathe me in

by nymphchild



Category: The Song of Achilles - Madeline Miller
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Boys Kissing, Established Relationship, M/M, Shotgunning, patroclus and Achilles get high and handjobs are a thing, thats literally it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-09
Updated: 2015-06-09
Packaged: 2018-04-03 14:54:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4105003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nymphchild/pseuds/nymphchild
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Patroclus can't tell whether he wants to choke or fuck him in the cloud of smoke. He settles for a bit of both.</p>
            </blockquote>





	breathe me in

**Author's Note:**

> i don't know how this happened- but it did. it happened.

He thinks he gets it now- he thinks he _really_ gets it. Because there’s something deviously appealing in Achilles' eyes being hazy and hungry and looking at him in _that_ way. Yet, Patroclus also really just wants to run- or maybe stay and cough his lungs out, but refrains from doing so out of fear of breaking the trance Achilles was currently under.

_Gods, were his eyes always that green?_

Patroclus thinks he might throw up.

The smoke continues to tickle the back of his throat and oh my gods he might actually throw up. Except, Achilles hand is suddenly holding his wrist, strong yet delicate as always, and Patroclus finds himself mimicking Achilles just moments ago, exhaling and blowing the smoke back into his open pink mouth. Patroclus throat is free, no longer a prisoner and burning at the sting of the smoke, but he thinks he might still throw up.

Or cry. 

"Not so bad, huh?" Achilles laughs, carefree as always, placing a kiss on Patroclus forehead before leaning back against his bed's headboard.  _It was awful. Disgusting. I've never hated anything more. I think I rather go on a date with Deidameia than do that again. And dear gods, I've gone on a date with Deidameia before._

"It's not a big deal," comes Patroclus weak response. Achilles raises an eyebrow, a  _do you really think I believe you_ eyebrow, but lets it go for now. Patroclus is silently thankful.  _  
_

Achilles continues to take drags from the- if Patroclus is being perfectly honest- poorly rolled joint. Patroclus waits. Waits for Achilles to either sit back up and blow more of the devil smoke into his mouth, or at least pass the shitty joint. Achilles does neither, in fact, he seems to take longer drags and Patroclus's eye almost twitches in mild annoyance at Achilles being perfect at yet _another_ thing. Patroclus takes a deep breath, not that a doped up Achilles notices, and sits next to him, his back against the hard headboard. He thinks he should be offended at Achilles choosing not to share, but then his throat pulses with a sudden jolt of pain and Patroclus mentally apologizes to said throat. 

Despite his perfectly rational annoyance, Patroclus is trying very hard not to gawk at the boy next to him. Trying. Very. Hard. He fails- of course. Achilles looks so fucking  _pretty_  blowing out perfect little o's ( _of fucking course)_ and Patroclus can't tell whether he wants to choke or fuck him in the cloud of smoke. He settles for a bit of both. 

Patroclus clears his throat. Twice- because the first time Achilles didn't notice. Achilles turns slowly, mid drag, and Patroclus grabs the back of his neck, pulling him forward. He kisses him, hard. Grips the back of his neck just as hard. The smoke touches his tongue before Achilles. Achilles hesitates, only for a moment, before kissing back. 

Now, Patroclus figures it's probably the weed- most definitely the weed- that has Achilles kissing him back so languish, so lazily, so unlike Achilles. Patroclus pulls back, and stares at Achilles. Achilles still has his eyes closed, his lips are pink and swollen in just the slightest way, and he suddenly lets out a small whine at the loss of Patroclus' lips and Patroclus has to hold back a groan so loud he thinks he might've just given himself an ulcer. The ulcer seems to double in size as Achilles reaches down, and swoops his hand inside Patroclus's sweats in one surprisingly coordinated move. 

Patroclus has to hold back a gasp as Achilles warm hand touches him. Achilles is now staring at him, his eyes cloudy yet somehow _knowing_ and still sparkling with amusement. _Fuck him._ Well, Patroclus is trying. He tries to sit up, tries to take over the situation he thinks he should be the one in control of, but then Achilles hand does a  _thing_ and Patroclus can't help the whimper that escapes him. He's hard now, embarrassingly so. 

 _"Achilles,"_ Patroclus warns but it comes out more like a whine. Achilles shrugs and suddenly reaches back, putting out his joint on the glass horse-shaped ashtray on his nightstand, all whilst never once stilling his hand which was currently stroking Patroclus in a steady rhythm.

Patroclus wants to laugh. And maybe cry a little. He thinks if he didn't love Achilles so much he would hate him.

Oh _gods_ he would hate him.

He surges forward, catching Achilles bottom lip and biting it, perhaps a little too hard, but Achilles doesn't seem to mind. Patroclus pants softly into his mouth, reaching up with one hand to hold his jaw to properly kiss him, while his other hand travels down Achilles' side. He slips a hand under Achilles shirt, stroking his sides softly. He could never grow tired of the feel of Achilles skin, the soft plains of his chest, the feel of muscle underneath his fingertips. Patroclus could do this- just this, forever.

But Achilles can't apparently because he's reached into his own pants with his other hand and has begun to jerk himself off. Patroclus is close, so very so, and pulls back, and is greeted with the sight of Achilles' face twisted in his own pleasure and it takes all of him not to come to the very sight of it. He thinks he should feel guilty that he's not returning the favor (or perhaps a little insulted that Achilles had to take matters into his own hands-  _literally_ ), but the tremble in Achilles' bottom lip and the pooling of sweat beneath his brow makes Patroclus not care all that much. In fact, he thinks he might not care at all.

"Hey," Patroclus says, his voice low, almost as if he was whispering, "I'm gonna come in a bit," he finishes, and has to stifle a giggle.

Patroclus feels _good_. He feels light, in an unfamiliar way.  _Oh shit._

"Achilles," he whispers harshly, making Achilles still his movements on both himself and Patroclus. Patroclus tries not to whine. "I think I'm a little high." Achilles stares. Then he starts laughing- really hard, really loud. Before Patroclus can get any other word out, Achilles mouth is on him, lazy as before but it's a rhythm Patroclus can keep up with now. He starts his strokes again, and this time it only takes a few seconds before Patroclus is seeing white and being pulled apart. He comes hard, and Achilles hand never ceases, instead riding out Patroclus's orgasm as long as he can before Patroclus is shaking and prying himself away. Achilles comes a moment later, gasping, and whining loud in the back of his throat, and it's a sight so fucking beautiful Patroclus holds his breath.

Achilles takes a second to catch his breath before leaning against Patroclus, nuzzling against his neck. He murmurs something along the lines of _hungry_ and _figs_.

Patroclus lets out a breathless laugh, kissing the side of his face. It is then that he begins to laugh so hard, Achilles considers checking the burnt out butt beside the bed for traces of, well, _anything_.

But Achilles' hand is still inside Patroclus' sweats and for some reason Patroclus thinks it might be the funniest fucking thing in the world.

**Author's Note:**

> gotta love trashy silly one shots. okay so I obviously still don't know what i'm doing. dear god this is probably one of the most embarrassing things i've written. lord.


End file.
